


Outrageous Fortune

by cycnus39



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycnus39/pseuds/cycnus39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heyes suffers the slings and arrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outrageous Fortune

Heyes was beginning to believe Kid had been right. In the two and a half hours since Kid had left the saloon for bed, the poker game had gotten worse. His fellow players were professional folders when they didn't have anything approaching a full house. His winnings had increased by a total of a dollar and six bits since Kid had walked out and Heyes finally decided he knew when to quit.

"No offence, gentlemen," he began with an apologetic smile, "but I'm afraid I'm liable to start dreaming at the table if I don't take myself off to bed."

The other players blinked back at him owlishly.

"Well, goodnight, then." He picked up his money with a polite nod and left.

The cold night air hit him like a sharp slap as soon as he stepped out of the saloon. Flicking up his coat collar, he hunched his shoulders to keep in the little heat the bitter wind left him with and strode up the street towards the hotel. If he hadn't been fixating on curling up in a warm bed with Kid, he may have taken proper notice of the suspicious whispering and scuffling that laced the darkness of the vacant lot he was passing. As it was, he almost sensed the blow aimed at the back of his head in time to dodge it. Almost. The rifle butt hit him at the base of the neck, sending a bolt of acute pain shooting down his spine as it drove him to his knees.

"Get his gun!" a voice snarled and his coat was ripped away, his gun taken from its holster before he was roughly manhandled deeper into the pure blackness of the vacant lot.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am but I'm not," he said, trying to see past the red and gold sparks dancing across his eyes. "A lot of people--" 

"We know who you are!" another voice called. 

"Leastways we know enough not to care," yet another shouted to a round of laughter. 

It was only then Heyes realised the extent of his predicament. There were at least six rowdy men surrounding him with less than wholesome intent and it was taking all his effort just to stay on his feet and keep his stomach content where it belonged. 

"Come on, boys--" he began to say when a hard shove made him lose his breath before catapulting him into a fist that hit him square on the jaw. He would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for a pair of harsh hands pulling him up and holding him steady. 

"It's all right, it's all right," he said around the blood in his mouth. "I understand you boys wanting to horse around but I'm afraid I'm a little busy right now so, if you don't mind, I'll just get along."

"Yeah, sure, you're busy all right, mister," someone laughed over the ringing in his ears. "Busy giving us some fun!"

He was then hurled from one set of rough hands to another until he was so dizzy he was almost grateful when some kind soul did him the favour of punching him in the ribs so he could collapse to the ground.

"Now don't take this the wrong way, boys," he wheezed out between pained gasps, "but I really have to get going."

"Sure you do," a couple said in unison and he was hauled to his feet for another shove around the circle. 

This time he was sickeningly dizzy from the outset and the hands were rougher, deliberately trying to injure and bruise before pushing him on. He knew it was only going to get worse, knew they would keep beating him until they got tired or bored. He couldn't let it get that far, had to think, had to--

An awkward punch to the chest hurt more than it should and he fell to his knees by the boots of the man who'd punched him. It seemed to be the same man who punched him every time. He was beginning to recognise that fist. It was a big right hand about the size of a good-sized ham, which begged the question: where was the left to go with it? 

As he was hauled to his feet, the answer struck him with a nasty finger poke in his aching ribs: the rifle. One of them must still be holding it. That was his solution and his salvation. The problem was getting hold of it.

"Look, boys, it's cold, we're tired and it's a bit late for this kind of thing, don't you think?" he said, letting his mouth run on while he mapped out the circle of his aggressors by their none too gentle touches. There seemed to be a pattern. It started with Pokey-Fingers and then came Grasper. Then it was Squeezy followed by Twisty. Finally, there was a long shove to Iron-Grip before an even longer push over to Ham-Fist. By the time he had figured that out, he was down on the ground spitting out blood and dirt. 

Even though the analytical part of his mind told him he'd get it next time, the panicked part shied away from running the gauntlet again, made his hand reach out for the nearest gun holster, got him a sound whack to the side of the head for his efforts.

"You keep them hands to yourself, mister!" a jovial voice called as the game of pass the punch bag resumed. 

Locking his fear away, Heyes concentrated on the feel of the hands on his body. Judging by the painful twist to his left shoulder, he knew there was a long shove coming. He was almost relieved when Iron-Grip caught him but then had to concentrate not to mess up the push to Ham-Fist. When the shove came, he staggered to the right, felt a fist rush past his ear and lunged for where he thought the rifle would be. 

His fingers grasped metal and wood.

Holding onto the rifle as hard as he could, he jerked it up towards Ham-Fist's face and was rewarded with a muffled yelp. He then yanked it free of the huge left fist and butted the nearest man out of his way before breaking the circle and firing a shot into the air.

"That's enough!" he shouted as loud as his screaming ribs and aching jaw would allow. "Drop your gunbelts one at a time so I can hear them hit the ground."

The men made no movement.

"You better hurry!" he snapped. "My finger's getting real heavy on this trigger and I'm not feeling particularly charitable towards you boys."

"He's bluffing," someone whispered. "He can't see us in the dark and the sheriff won't be out to bother us none."

"That's true," Heyes agreed. "But how many of you do you think it'll take to stop a rifle bullet at this range? Two, three? Maybe four if you're standing just right. Don't move," he called as he felt the men shuffle. "Just drop those guns nice and easy."

This time they quickly complied.

"Good, you're doing real good, boys. Now, where's my gun and coat?"

"I got your gun," someone volunteered.

"Then throw it to the ground by the left side wall."

There was a clunk by the right wall.

Heyes rolled his eyes. "All right, who's got my coat?" 

No one spoke up.

"I won't ask again," he growled.

"I think it got ripped up some, mister," someone returned apologetically. 

"I reckon maybe half of it landed in that water trough out on the street," another volunteered.

"All right," Heyes sighed. "Turn out your pockets."

"You're robbing us?" one of them squeaked.

"No, I'm taking up a collection for a new coat and you're bringing me the money."

"Aw, shit," the man cursed his luck.

General rustling and grumbling began.

"Oh, and be generous, boys. Every last cent will be appreciated."

The rustling and grumbling grew more pronounced.

"Think of it this way," Heyes continued, "everyone has to pay for their sins sooner or later. You're just paying up sooner."

A few moments later, a figure shuffled forward with an outstretched handful of cash. Heyes had no sooner stuffed the money into his pants pocket than he fired another shot into the air.

"All right, boys, on your way. Go on, git!" he shouted and fired again. 

The men scrambled out the vacant lot in no time flat and Heyes retrieved his gun before making his weary way on to the hotel still carrying the rifle.

The desk clerk was awake and looked ridiculously amused by his dishevelled appearance.

"You all right, Mister Smith?" he almost giggled. 

Heyes just took his key and started the painful journey up the stairs to his room. The lamps weren't lit but as soon as he opened the door he knew Kid was awake and watching him by the weak moonlight coming through the window. The attention was both a comfort and an annoyance.

"Go to sleep, Kid," he said, locking the door behind him. "I ain't going to do anything but strip and go to bed."

"Why do you think I'm watching?"

Ignoring the comment, Heyes wedged a chair under the door handle but made the mistake of straightening up too fast and a pained gasp escaped his lips. 

"What did you get yourself mixed up in now, Heyes?" Kid elbowed up in bed concernedly. "Can't I leave you alone for five minutes without you courting trouble?"

"Courting trouble? Me?" Heyes returned indignantly while sitting down on his side of the lumpy hotel mattress. "You know me better than that, Kid."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I don't know you as well as you think I do. What happened? Did they think you were cheating?"

Heyes paused to try and ease his aching neck before answering. "No, they didn't think I was cheating and if you ask me if I was cheating I'm going to brain you with this rifle."

In the silence that followed, Heyes thought about taking off his boots. He hadn't quite talked himself into doing anything when the mattress jostled, a match was struck and the oil lamp on the bedside table behind him flickered to life.

"What rifle?" Kid asked.

Heyes turned to drop the item in question on Kid's lap. "That rifle."

"Well, that surely is a nice rifle, Heyes," Kid returned in surprise before picking it up and putting it down the side of the bed. "Where'd you get it?"

"I traded my coat for it."

"Ah-huh. Why?"

Heyes shrugged a little before toeing off his right boot. "You said yourself it was a nice rifle. Trading for it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And what about the beating? Did it seem like a good idea at the time or did you trade for that too?"

"No, that was free," Heyes hissed while toeing off his left boot. "No, wait," he added, pulling the lump of cash out of his pocket and throwing it on the bed. "Actually, they paid me."

"Well, that's certainly an interesting approach," Kid replied as he moved to pick up the money.

Heyes had hung up his gunbelt on the iron bedpost above his pillow and was inching down his pants when Kid spoke up again.

"There's fifty-six dollars here, Heyes."

"Ah-huh," Heyes grunted before giving up the uneven struggle with his pants and lying gingerly down on the mattress. 

Leaning up on one elbow above him, Kid didn't look pleased.

"Now, while I'm not saying we couldn't use the money," he said softly, "I hope you're not planning on getting beat up again anytime soon."

"Don't worry," Heyes said, closing his eyes, "I didn't plan on doing it the first time."

"So what happened?"

Heyes waited until he felt Kid's fingers unbuttoning his shirt before responding. "Oh, me and a few boys got together for a little fun is all."

"Fun? I'd hate to see what they do out of spite. Do you want to roll over so I can get your shirt off?"

Heyes opened one eye to take in Kid's patient expression.

"If it's not too much trouble that is," Kid prodded and Heyes reluctantly rolled to either side, freeing the shirt so Kid could throw it over the foot of the bedframe.

"You know, you can get real moody when you don't get your own way," Heyes commented.

Kid gave him a sour look. "Are you complaining?"

"Nope, just saying."

"Well quit saying," Kid returned while moving down to take off Heyes' pants. 

"It's just that, as your partner, I feel it's my moral obligation to--"

"Moral what?" Kid stopped and stared. "Heyes, you've never felt morally obliged to do anything that didn't suit," he stated emphatically but still pulled off Heyes' pants with the greatest of care before throwing them over the shirt.

"Exactly," Heyes went on. "And it suits me to keep you clean living and virtuous," he finished with a grin and a wince when his sore face took objection.

Kid immediately moved up to check over his injuries. "Heyes, for a man who just got beaten up so good you're sure in a cheerful mood."

Feeling lulled by Kid's sure touch tracing gently over his skin, Heyes let his eyes close once more. "Would you prefer it if I was depressed?"

"No, but why are you so happy? Because you got their money?"

"Nope." Heyes leaned up and caught Kid's mouth in a long soft kiss. "Got more than that."

Neither of them spoke again until Kid blew out the lamp and they settled down together under the covers.

"You know, Kid, you'd make a wonderful nurse," Heyes said lazily into the warm darkness. 

"Go to sleep," Kid sighed by his ear.

"No, honestly, I think it's something you should try after our amnesty comes through. You've got the perfect hands for it. I can just see you dressing wounds and tucking sick children into bed."

"Heyes, if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to use my perfect hands to wring your perfect neck."

 

 

End


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